


Kings {ON HIATUS}

by nastyK



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Minor OC - Freeform, Near Death, Plot, Plot-heavy, Violence, can't promise actual sex but we'll see, junkertown - Freeform, longfic, other overwatch characters appear but i dont wanna spoil, tags will be added as the story goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12859770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastyK/pseuds/nastyK
Summary: Junkrat and Roadhog have been laying low for a while. They want to dethrone the queen. Someone else is after them. Chaos ensues.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> You thought this account was all just porn? HAHA!  
> I would've posted this on my main buuuuut I'm thinking about not using my main for posting at all so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.  
> Anyway, I'm putting real elbow grease on this so... please enjoy and recommend if you like it! <3

    Light as the dust that fell upon the red sand, the Stranger walked past the ramshackle remains of an old town. Zinc and wooden walls that surely provided refuge to some littered the place. The Stranger, however, wasted no time sightseeing. They walked past the old houses and kept their eye on their target: the walled wreckage once known to the world as the Australian Omnium.

    The walk was long and exhausting, but soon enough, the Stranger found themselves in front of the town's gate. They stood still and observed. The tenseness in their body was relieved upon seeing there were no turrets, but they did spot the sentry. The man yelled something like a greeting. He propped his face against the rusty mounted binoculars to get a better look at them, and the Stranger stared right back. The man took a second or two to get a good look at the Stranger: they wore sand-colored clothing from toe to tip under an equally sandy coat. A proper gas mask covered their face. On their back, they carried a long rifle. Aside from the heavy dust covering them, their clothing barely looked worn. They weren't from here, that much was clear.

    "And who the bloody hell are you?" the man yelled, his ragged voice echoing down to the Stranger. But the Stranger did not reply. "A quiet one! A'right, what do you want, then?"

    The Stranger pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from their coat and held it up to the man. He squinted and struggled to see what was on it, but he managed to catch the details: a rough drawing of a long, angular male face with a large, toothy grin; there were three tufts of hair on his head. Any Junker, to anyone else, but instantly recognizable to the man. "Ah, sorry, mate! He ain't here no more. Now piss off!"

    The Stranger did not move.  Instead, they put away the paper and fished for something else in their pockets. They pulled out their palm up to reveal a number of gold tinted coins. "Ahh," the man began when he picked up sight of the coins, "Persuasive! Leave 'em there. I'll open the gates for ya."

    They did as told, and waited. The rusty old gates creaked and moaned as they were manually reeled up by the sentry. As the gates went up, a vandalized wall revealed "The Queen's Decree". Concise; straight to the point. Past that, were the streets, full of colorful individuals who mostly avoided each other's sights. The Stranger took it all in before taking a step. "Don't you go causin' any trouble, rich boy. 'N don't flash yer money. You'll be dead before you know it. Welcome to Junkertown."


	2. Sewer Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat gets an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took way longer than necessary to write... Enjoy!

Morning was always cruel to Roadhog. The sunlight in his eyes, the stiffness of his muscles, the strain on his back, and as an added bonus, Junkrat's noises. He groaned as his bones popped and cracked when he sat up on the bed and stretched.  He looked around his farm, his home, and found Junkrat making (more) coffee. He was already on his third cup. The thinner man leaned naked against the table as he watched the coffee brew, his flesh hand scratching his ass. He turned his head to the bigger man, who was already in the process of putting on his underwear, and smiled. "Morning, sunshine!"  
"Put some clothes on," Roadhog grumbled. Junkrat looked overly offended, placing both hands on his hips. So dramatic.  
"What! You're tellin' me ya ain't _lovin'_ the show?" He turned back to the coffee machine, completely "heartbroken". Roadhog couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. He huffed in response.  
  
When did life with Junkrat become so civil? They ate breakfast together on their sorry excuse for a table; they watched TV and drank beer together; they washed up with the hose together—though, to be fair Junkrat always did need help with that last one. ...But they also sat outside together—they conversed and laughed together. They would even fuck if the mood struck. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and sleep, _together_. This was the average day for them since they got back home. They were like an old married couple, partaking in retirement and enjoying each other's company. Part of Roadhog was content. The other part itched for something more. He wondered if Junkrat felt the same way or if he was just tired. Where had the lust for mayhem gone? Ever since their plan to infiltrate Junkertown failed, Junkrat had been laying low. Too low. Maybe he simply enjoyed feeling somewhat normal. With no one chasing after him, and living in relative comfort in the farm... Maybe that was it, Roadhog thought. Or so he did until one night he was met with the special grin that meant Junkrat had an idea.  
Roadhog placed a massive palm on Junkrat's face, and pushed him away. "Tell me tomorrow." Junkrat moved the big hand off his face, but kept holding it. His thin fingers tapped the bigger ones impatiently.  
"I'll _forget_ tomorrow!"  
"If it's important, you won't." Junkrat whined but didn't push further.  The two lay down and slept. Or at least, Roadhog did.  
  
The following morning, he was rudely woken up by Junkrat shaking and calling him.  "Hey. Hey. Roadie. Roadhog, hey. Wake up. Hoggy, get up. It's tomorrow already—"  
"Shut. Up," he groaned and rolled to his side, away from Junkrat. Junkrat got up and began to pace around the farm; the sound of which was just as annoying as the prior pestering. Roadhog had no choice but to get up. He sat up, stretched and scratched his belly. "What is it?"  
Junkrat immediately perked up and scurried over to the bed, sitting next to 'Hog. "We're going in again. No disguises, not the main entrance, no explosions—well, maybe _one_ explosion—but, _but!_ We get 'er when she least expects it. Cut her throat open while she sleeps! Then we fuck on the throne and then blow the whole place down!" He cackled maniacally, almost leaning against Roadhog with all the confidence in the world that the plan was perfect.  
"How?" Junkrat gave him a distracted "huh?" as his laughter subsided. Then Roadhog asked again, " _How?_ That's not a plan."  
"Ahh... Well, haven't thought that through just yet... B-But it'll work! This time, we'll take her down! Dethrone the blue cunt."  
Roadhog sighed. "Talk to me again when you have an _actual_ plan."  
  
Junkrat didn't talk to him again for the rest of the day. Roadhog didn't mind at all. He preferred the quiet mumbles of the younger man's brainstorming process to his yelling and rambling. By night time, Junkrat was still deep in thought, drawing on many sheets of paper on the floor. Roadhog walked towards him with a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He bent down and gently pressed his hand against Junkrat's back. It made him jump at first, but then he shivered, as if Roadhog's touch had sent electricity down his spine. Roadhog set down the cup beside 'Rat, and got back up. "Ta," Junkrat almost whispered, taking the cup and chugging it. He'd probably be at this till morning, Roadhog thought. He walked back to the bed and got ready to sleep.  
  
As predicted, Roadhog woke up to Junkrat's mumbles and giggles. Junkrat eventually got up from the floor, and turned to Roadhog smiling like a giddy child. "I figured it out, Hog!" He didn't give him a chance to speak before he was blurting out his surprisingly detailed plan. "So I was thinkin'—been rememberin' how back when I was a tyke, I would go lookin' for scrap in all these hard to reach places, yeah? Didn't find squat most of the time but I also did lotsa explorin', found tunnels, mate, like massive maze-like tunnels n' all that. I actually found me treasure near those tunnels, hah—but that's not the point, the point is that one of 'em is bound to reach the Queen's quarters. I don't really know which but we can figure that out later! The plan is, we get into town through the tunnels at night, sneak our way through town, kill the boss, and boom!"  
"...How do we get to the tunnels?" Roadhog decided to ignore the rest of the plan for now. It could be dealt with later.  
"Ah,"  Junkrat smirked as if he'd just outsmarted the man. "The sewer drains!"

  
  
The next day, the Junkers began their preparations for their mission. Junkrat built and tweaked his grenades outside in his workshop while Roadhog checked up the chopper.  Later on, Junkrat loaded the sidecar with provisions and ammunition; Roadhog meanwhile kicked the hog alive. The familiar hum of the bike got his blood boiling with excitement. Junkrat hollered the moment the bike began to move, fast as ever, leaving clouds of dust in its wake.  
  
The ride wasn't too long, since the farm wasn't exactly far from Junkertown. However, they had to ride around town—and far away enough to not be spotted—, down the hill and along the river.  They reached their destination several hours later: the hill upon which Junkertown was built curved enough to cast a shadow where land and river met. There was a large pipe that provided a good enough shadow as well, but it obstructed their path. Roadhog parked his chopper somewhere between the pipe and a rock, where it could hardly be seen by anyone nearby. Afterwards, they crawled under the pipe (Roadhog had some difficulty), and settled against it. The sound of the faux waterfalls created by the sewage drain pipes was almost relaxing, despite the rising stench of sewage water. They decided to wait around until the sun set. Junkrat sat down against the cool pipe and took a swig from his canteen, which this time contained less-than-hot coffee.  
"Now, we wait, patiently, until night time," Junkrat said, sounding anything but patient.  
"Yup."  
"A lot of time, you know, between then and now..."  
"Yup."  
Silence.  
"...Let's root," Junkrat suggested. Roadhog snorted at that. "Is that a yes?" His impatient hands were already pawing at Roadhog's pants. Roadhog took Junkrat’s hands off, surprisingly gently, and shook his head. Junkrat stammered and pouted, "Why not?"  
"Thought you wanted to fuck on the throne."  
"Wh—I mean, _yes_. Don't mean we can't fuck before that!" Roadhog did not respond, to which Junkrat exaggeratedly groaned. He crossed his arms and pouted, resigned to his fate. Roadhog wanted to laugh, but knew better than to do that. Junkrat's sex drive always fascinated him. _Like a rabbit, almost_.  
  
Junkrat managed to find ways to distract himself. He’d clean the dirt from underneath his nails, pick at his skin, throw pebbles at the water, and even play with matches, turning them on and holding them up dangerously close to his eyes. Roadhog slept for about an hour; upon waking up, he simply sat and stared at the sky, either listening to or tuning out Junkrat's stories and rambles. When the Sun began to set, Junkrat decided it was a good time to begin setting up. They'd have to climb up to the drain, and not slip and fall with the strong flow of water. Junkrat was quick to suggest using his concussion mine to jump over, but Roadhog refused to let him.  Roadhog then considered using the hook and chain to support themselves, but he had nothing stable enough to grapple onto. In the end, they simply agreed to climb the rocky wall and hope for the best. That’s how things usually went with them.

So they climbed, and climbed, and climbed until they were close enough to the pipe protruding from the wall. It was a lot bigger up close; both could walk inside with no problem. One at a time, they began the process of entering. Junkrat clung to the top of the pipe and crawled backwards until his legs were hanging off the ledge. He curved his body inwards and went in with a leap of faith. He cursed when he fell on his ass and got the majority of his body wet, and gagged when the stench invaded his nostrils.

Roadhog mimicked Junkrat’s method with considerably more trouble, but he made it in, landing with slightly more stability than his partner. “You alright?” he asked. Junkrat groaned and rubbed where the landing hurt most. “M’fine,” he responded, trying his best to get back up. He slipped each time he tried, his peg leg to blame. He almost fell back down if it weren’t for Roadhog holding him up from behind. He clung to Roadhog’s arms to regain his balance. “Shit, this was a lot easier when I had both legs, eheh...”

“Don’t doubt it.”

“You mind holdin’ me till we get past this?” Roadhog shook his head and held Junkrat. Junkrat thanked him and the two began their trek down the dark and damp sewers of Junkertown.

 

Sifting through the shit water was god awful. The tunnels narrow and flooded, and every sound, even the clicking movements of over-sized roaches, resonated against the metal walls. It would have been pitch black had it not been for Junkrat’s lit matches. Junkrat was up on Roadhog’s shoulders, coughing and gagging, and Roadhog was stomping forward in waist-deep murky water. He grunted every now and then from the strain in the muscles of his legs. Junkrat felt bad each time. “Don’t—nngh, worry, Hog, we’re almost… almost there.”  
“You said that an hour ago. We’re lost.” The tone in Roadhog’s voice was angry. Beyond angry. He’s very very very very angry and he could drown Junkrat any minute, because that’s what’s going through Junkrat’s mind, and it makes sense that he would. But he reassures Roadhog they’re not lost, they’re on the right track, he knows. He takes a deep breath—through his mouth this time; he learned his mistake from last time—and exhales, long and deep. Roadhog gets angry, that’s normal, he wouldn’t kill Junkrat, though. He knows this, but sometimes… Sometimes thinking doesn’t work right.

 

Left, right, no, straight, straight, left again, right. Directions got fuzzier and fuzzier in Junkrat’s mind, but he was sure they would make it. Ten, maybe twenty minutes later, they found solid ground. Junkrat breathed a sigh of relief and prodded Roadhog to put him down. Roadhog obliged. “Hahah! See? Told ya we’d find the way.” The tunnel they found themselves in now was more like a long and narrow corridor. Light escaped from grates on the roof as well as the muffled sounds of night time society. They were actually beneath Junkertown now.

“This way,” Junkrat said, leading the way towards the darker end of the tunnel.  They walked, and walked, and soon, they found some rusty old ladders leading up to the surface. Junkrat let out an excited giggle before shutting himself up in fear of being too loud. He bit back his laugh with a smile as he climbed the ladders and Roadhog followed. He propped himself uncomfortably on the steps as he took both hands off the ladder to lift up the drain above his head. He peeked up to make sure no one was around. The coast was clear. He looked back down at Roadhog and asked, “Hey, can y’fit through here?”

Roadhog looked at the opening and huffed, “Think so.” Junkrat gave him a thumbs up and climbed up to the surface. Roadhog followed and, just barely, made it up as well. After taking a look at their surroundings and localizing themselves, they found themselves sneaking through the tight alleyways of the town. The walls were littered with posters of the Queen (which Junkrat ripped off as he passed by) and even more so of themselves. “Shoot on sight”, they said. Junkrat snickered. _As if anyone would be stupid enough to kill us._

And then he felt a sting on his back.


	3. Separate Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad bad things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but shit goes down. Small warning for violence.

And then he fell on his knees and tried to scream. He felt his body fight and try to kill itself from the inside. The sting had turned to flames as his life was drained and he was panicking, and he didn’t know what to do, and he wanted to turn to Roadhog but he was writhing on the floor and finally screaming. But then, he felt the big hands on him, heard the deep voice call to him but he couldn’t hear through the pain. Maybe “Are you okay?”; “Stay quiet!”, perhaps. But he couldn’t stay quiet, he had to scream and scream and scream. Panic, panic, panic, was he dying? Was this poison? Was he going to die?

Roadhog didn’t know what to do. He turned Junkrat over but he couldn’t find anything—no, there it was: a dart. A dart too slick and too clean to be from Junkertown. Inside it had a purple liquid that slowly drained into Junkrat’s body, killing him slowly, painfully… Roadhog grunted and ripped the thing off; he crushed it in his fist. The glass pricked his skin and the liquid burned; it had gotten through the cuts and he too began to feel the pain: like his hand was losing life, like his bones were crushing themselves and cutting the veins in his palm. He made a noise but fought it; Junkrat needed him.  So he held the screaming man against his chest and covered his mouth with his hand enough to muffle the sound, but it was too late. He could hear footsteps approaching, too many at once. Members of a nearby gang had gone out to investigate the sound and found Roadhog on his knees holding Junkrat like a child. They were confused, but it didn’t take long for them to recognize the exiled Junkers. They looked at Junkrat with hungry eyes. One of the men chuckled lowly as he approached them. “Here, little piggy…”

“Back off,” Roadhog held Junkrat closer to his chest. His skin had gone cold and sweaty, and he shivered and whimpered in pain. He pulled away his hand from Junkrat’s mouth and unholstered his scrap gun, threatening the men with it. There were four. He could handle four. The frontman, lanky and looking like a walking corpse, laughed. He didn’t feel threatened at all, it would seem.

“How’s about you hand us the rat, eh? And we won’t tell no one we saw you lot in town,” the man said as he cocked his gun at Roadhog. The men behind him began to draw their weapons as well. It only made Roadhog hold on to Junkrat tighter—he wasn’t screaming anymore, he realized. Had he passed out? He didn’t have time to check. He looked at the man straight in the eyes and repeated, “I said, back _off._ ” He gave them a warning shot, the scrap gun releasing hot pieces of metal in all directions. Some hit the dodging men, but didn’t do much damage due to range. Before he knew it, four guns were shooting at him, some missing or grazing his skin. He roared and dropped Junkrat on the ground behind him, and then he charged towards the four men, ripping the guns from their hands and punching them in their guts and faces. They kicked and yelled, calling for backup. Roadhog convinced himself he could take them. He felt searing holes in the meat of his shoulders, but he could handle it. _I can take them._ He grabbed one of them by the head and slammed it against the wall, while another man climbed his back and tried to keep him in a chokehold. His neck was so thick the goon could hardly wrap his arm around it though, so Roadhog slammed his back against the wall, making sure to apply his full weight and crush the man. A gunshot came from the backup that had come and his gut was bleeding. Bellowing and running, he tried to charge the third man, but the fourth had tackled him from behind. Roadhog tried to roll over and crush him, but the man had pulled a knife from who knows where and buried it deep into his back. The pain had him springing back up and pulling the knife off. His sight was going hazy. He backed off and pulled out a canister of hogdrogen and quickly clicked it onto his mask. He breathed deep and the wounds closed up before their very eyes. Incredulous, they started shooting at him again, charging and holding him. He shot three times and a head went off, blood sprayed and bodies slumped. Still, there must have been over eight men coming at him. He realized he’d run out of scrap when he reached into his bag of ammo and found nothing but a bolt or two. _Shit._

If only he’d balled his hands into fists and punched the air, if only he'd reacted sooner, he wouldn’t have been on the floor, pinned by the awful force of six men (or more) on each of his limbs and two pressing down over him, punching and kicking. Punching, and punching, punch, punch, _punch_ until the mask nearly came off, until it had punctured his face and broken his lip and nose, until he started to see stars, until he realized he’d been defeated. His fuzzy sight shifted to the man standing above him, gun pointed to his face. The man fired, and the last thing he saw was a shadow on the rooftops above.

  


 

The first thing Junkrat did upon waking up in the pitch black room was scream.  The pain had mostly gone away, but the fear and panic had not left him.  He wriggled and fought to get up but his body was tied up tight.  His eyes would not stop wandering to each and every corner of the room, looking for something, anything that could be of any indication of where he was. And then he saw a sliver of light approaching through the bottom of a door. There’s a door. A door’s good, he can escape through a door. He takes a deep breath—various deep breaths, actually, because Roadhog taught him how to calm himself down by just breathing. Bloody brilliant, that Hog. Hog. Roadhog. _Roadhog. Where’s Roadhog?_ “Hog?! HOG!” He screamed his name over and over to no answer; he fought to move around to be able to see his friend, but he wasn’t there. Roadhog wasn’t there and Junkrat was freaking out more, too much, “Where’re ya hidin’ him, you bastards?! ROADHOG!”

Then he heard footsteps approaching. He stood still—as still as he could be in his situation. He never stopped twitching or hyperventilating. The door creaked open and a man he barely recognized slowly stepped in with a candle in hand. Junkrat wanted to punch the sly smile off his stupid face. He felt his right fingers twitch at the thought, except his right hand wasn’t there and a painful shudder went through his body when he realized he wasn’t wearing his arm. Damned assholes took his arm off. Anger and confusion were reflected on his eyes as he glared at the wrinkled mess of a man who crouched down before him. “Hello, _mate_ ,” the man said in a low, gravelly voice, very much accentuating the latter word. For the first time in a long time, Junkrat stayed quiet. “Heard ya had somethin’ of value, worth more than the Queen’s bare tits.”

“Might be you heard wrong, mate,” Junkrat grinned. His eyes never left the man. They did not leave the man when he was sucker punched, and they did not leave the man when his face was grabbed by the jaw and pulled close.

“Don’t try playin’ dumb with me, kid. Just tell me where it is and no harm will be done, yeah?”

“Why should I tell _you,_ of all people? You ain’t even tried nothin’ to make me talk! I’ve been stringed up n’ tortured and never told a thing. You’re not the first to try this and you won’t be the last, _pal_ ,” Junkrat was cackling, ready for the pain and torture, ready to wait for ‘Hog. He always rescued him. Always.

“Oh, you’ll talk. Trust me,” said the man, standing back up and heading towards the door with his candle in hand.

Suddenly, something heavy sank deep in his gut. A small thought poisoned his mind and his composure was lost. A bad feeling. A terrible feeling. Almost afraid, he asked, “Where’s Roadhog?”  

He felt the man smile. “Dead,” he said with glee in his tone, “Shot point blank in the head.”


	4. For Old Time's Sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one guy's a creepy creep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two images for the price of one! Enjoy <3

Junkrat screamed for days straight, only ever stopping when he passed out from the exhaustion. He would roll around and willingly slam himself against the walls of the room and hope to die most of the time. No one had come to check on him at all; no one had asked about his stupid treasure. He never heard or noticed the presence of anyone.

On a good day he’d wail. He’d tell himself they hadn’t actually killed Roadhog, that he’d come to the rescue, that they’d be okay. Or he’d tell himself Roadhog betrayed him, but that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Would it? It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t make sense which meant Roadhog was dead, oh god. Oh god, oh god, Roadhog was  _ dead _ . He had to be. Junkrat hadn’t been rescued yet and it had been months already.  _ Months! _ Or… weeks? Weeks, right? Days? ...Hours?  Time was infinite when you could see fuck all.

Then he heard footsteps. He took a deep breath and quieted down. The door creaked open and there was a younger man he didn’t know approaching him with a candle and a bottle of… something. Junkrat just stared. “Christ,” the man muttered, covering his nose. He shined the light on Junkrat and revealed the mess he’d become: dried blood coated the top of his head, tear tracks fell from puffy eyes down to his chapped and torn lips. He’d scratched his left thigh to the point of bleeding through his shorts; apparently he’d pissed himself as well. He looked thinner, uglier, physically weaker.  _ When was the last time I ate? _ “You did the torturin’ for us looks like,” the man crouched down and placed the candle on the floor, “Now tell me… Treasure, where is it?”

Junkrat ignored him, rolling around and mumbling nonsense to himself. He stopped for a second and eyed the candle like it was water. “I could burn this whole place down with just that,” he giggled and kept moving. The man rolled his eyes and grabbed Junkrat by the hair, pulling his head back and bringing the bottle to attention. Junkrat looked at it and almost immediately stared at the man’s eyes. They were green. Green’s nice.

“Here’s some water. You can drink it if you tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Where the treasure is.”

“No idea.”

“Try again,” the man teased him with the bottle, wastefully pouring some water on the floor. Junkrat gulped dryly, suddenly realizing that he  _ really _ wanted that water more than anything in the world. He made a needy noise that made him sound very, very vulnerable.

“Junkertown,” he said, trying to bob his head toward the water bottle to no avail. The man grinned and took the bottle to Junkrat’s face and forcefully poured the water into his mouth. It was too much too fast, but he gulped down what he could and coughed up the rest, tears forming in his eyes again. “Good boy,” the man cooed, “Now, where in Junkertown?”

Junkrat couldn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want to—and he didn’t want to—but because he remembered Roadhog. He remembered a thick hand that caressed him from chest to navel and held him down, caringly, harshly, lovingly, lustfully.  _ ‘Good boy’. _

His eyes were welled up to the brim, and his chest was tight. He wanted to scream again, wail again, kill everything and everyone near him, but he was tied up. He was tied up and he was useless useless useless. He can’t work like this, can’t escape like this can’t avenge Hog can’t do anything can’t—

He was screaming and wriggling and clawing at himself again, and the man backed away in fear. “Shit!” he yelled, taking the candle and bottle and running out of the room, shutting the door behind him. How can a man be afraid of a tied up cripple? Junkrat wanted to laugh, and he probably did, but he didn’t notice. He was in darkness again, back with himself. Alone. Alone and thinking too many things at once.

  
  
  


…

 

_ Wheeze. _

 

The air stung his naked lungs and the deep throbbing in his left temple was nearly impossible to bear. He lifted his arm up to rub at his forehead but his arm was sore and everything hurt. It took him a whole minute to finally open his heavy-lidded eyes. Upon adjusting his sight, he realized he had no idea where he was. Every movement was painful, but he forced himself to turn his head to the side. He saw his mask laying broken on a makeshift nightstand.

He was alive. He was alive when he shouldn’t have been. He was alive and in pain and almost unable to move. Weak. Angry. Useless.

Roadhog took a deep, painful breath. He tried to understand the situation, tried to remember, but nothing made sense. Junkrat was in pain, passed out, and then a stampede of men tackled him, shot him in the head. He patted his forehead but felt nothing. Then he traced his fingers to his temple and felt a dent on his otherwise woundless head. He groaned as he sat up and felt the sting of blood flowing to his legs and muscles awakening for the first time in… how long? How long had he been unconscious in a stranger’s home? No time to think, he had to find Junkrat. He got up and slowly moved towards the door of the small room, his bones screaming with every step. He stopped, realizing he didn’t have his weapons on him. He turned his head and searched the room for them, but it was only him, the mask, and a shitty bed and nightstand.

The mask was weapon enough. He reached for it and strapped it on. The left lens was cracked, and dry blood coated the entire side. But overall, it had suffered minimal damage what with being constantly punched and partly shot through. He resumed his exit, opening the door and suddenly realizing the place he was in belonged to no stranger. “Rox?”

“In the flesh,” before him stood a stout, robust woman of, at most, fifty. Her clothes were raggedy and her brown curls had specks of silver here and there. She held in her arms an infant a couple of shades darker than her own; the baby clinged to her and sucked its thumb. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Mako?”

 

Roxane was a member of the Australian Liberation Front who had a passion and love for future generations and their well being. A righteous woman, strong and fierce, though a no one in Junkertown—along the same line as Bruce, wasted away after the destruction of the Omnium. She’d become a safe haven for the unwanted and tattered youth of Junkertown. A mother of sorts, she’d raise children that were not her own and teach them how to survive, being both tender and harsh when necessary. Roadhog had little respect for the person she was now. Yet there he was, sitting across from her in her ratty little living room, with a ratty little crib, and ratty little children. Like old friends catching up with their lives. Roadhog hadn’t felt so conflicted in a long time.

What made him feel the most uncomfortable was the number of skinny, dead-eyed children who looked away whenever he caught their sight. He didn’t hate children. He’d hurt children before, but not killed. Not…  _ directly _ at least. He swore he felt nothing for them, yet deep in his gut a feeling of guilt rose up at the sight of their bruised skin and visible bones and muscles far too toned for people so young. They were nobodies of the Wasteland. He sometimes felt such human feelings about Junkrat, except Junkrat wasn’t a nobody. Junkrat was Jamison Fawkes. Junkrat was a survivor of the Apocalypse. Junkrat was the a gift to the world—a gift of destruction and chaos. Junkrat was… gone. Taken away. Roadhog had no time to waste here.

“You know, I never pegged you for the babysittin’ type, Mako,” Roxane took a sip from her beer. She was sitting comfortably on her loveseat with the infant suckling at her breast.

“Don’t call me that,” Roadhog warned. 

Roxane scoffed, “Right! Right, you’re  _ Roadhog _ . Bah! You’re all the same, tryin’ to erase who you were before all this. Own up to it, that’s what I say.” She laughed in that gruff, dry voice of hers. Roadhog stood up, threateningly looking down on the woman. She smiled. “You’re a joke, Roadhog. Grown ass man pretendin’ to be this big scary monster who’s given up on humanity, doesn’t feel a thing, right? Just like every other person in this god forsaken hellhole. Now Mako, Mako had ambition, had a reason to live for, felt real to me. Mind bein’ Mako for a moment? Take that mask off, I’m not talkin’ to Roadhog.”

Anger and hatred took over his entire being except his hands as he slowly took the gas mask off. No one told him what to do and yet there he was, doing as he was told. Why? Because Roxane told him to? Because he wanted to? God, he needed to find Junkrat. Be himself again. Stop talking, just go back to being… not Mako.

And then there was no more Roadhog standing before the old woman, but Mako. Vulnerable, expressive, old Mako. “Better,” Roxane grinned. She took another sip and propped up the infant into a more comfortable position. “Now, I’m bettin’ you have some questions.”

“Several.”

“Go on, then.”

“How did you heal me?”

“I didn’t.”

“Where’s Junkrat?”

“Not here.”

Mako grumbled under his breath, his face giving away how blatantly annoyed he was. Roxane gulped down the rest of her beer. She accommodated the child on her lap and spoke, “That kid. Real good at gettin’ in trouble, he is. Used to come by here back in the day, piece of shit then, piece of shit now, I bet. Well, whatever he’s done, people want ‘im. Some bloke’s been payin’ real good money for anyone who can find him.”

“Think they already did. Tried to kill me.”

“Don’t think so. Bloke brought you to me ‘emself.”

Silence. Who? How? Did they use Roadhog’s hogdrogen? Hogdrogen can’t heal mortal wounds to the goddamn cranium, can it? So many questions went through his mind, not enough answers. He balled his fists and sat back down. Frustration took over him and he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to ask Roxane what else she knew, but it seemed as though the look on his face asked for him.

“Don’t know nothin’ else. You’d best leave town. Don’t think you’ll find him here.” She stood up and walked towards the handmade crib and tucked the baby in. She slid her breast back in her shirt and gestured Mako to follow her. “I was thinkin’ on keeping your shit, but I’ll return it to ya. For old time’s sake.”

“Wouldn’t have let you keep them,” he responded, buckling his mask back on. She handed him his harness, his hook and scrap gun. He felt normal again with the weight of everything on him, despite the pain it caused. He asked for the canisters, but she claimed not to have them. He decided to believe her.

 

The sky was a shade of pastel violet that meant the sun was about to rise. Roadhog stepped outside and took in the cool morning air. He’d have to find another way to leave town; there was no way he could make it through the sewers without Junkrat. So Roadhog did what he did best and didn’t sneak his way out. He walked directly to the gate and threatened anyone who was awake and drunk at this hour with his empty gun. “I just want to leave,” he told the sentry. Not looking for a fight, the sentry opened the gate.

As Roadhog walked out of town, he heard the Queen’s voice through the intercom. “Who was that?” That voice always gave him goosebumps.

“No one, my Queen,” the sentry said, looking straight at Roadhog. “Just someone leaving town.”

 

Junkrat wouldn’t have to wait any longer. Roadhog would find him. He would make sure to kill anyone who even thought about touching him.


	5. Necks and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a sliver of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic violence.

The Sun bit at Roadhog’s back like a million ants. Though he was only going around Junkertown to find the chopper, it was still a long walk and it made his legs weak. Step by step. Slowly but surely. 

He’s never felt this impatient.

 

The Sun was setting by the time he found the chopper, still hidden and unscathed. He looked over the provisions and made sure everything was in place. Once he saw everything was in place, he laid back. Roadhog sat alone, only having the singing of the nearby river to listen to. He could much more easily listen for any suspicious sounds now that Junkrat wasn’t with him, but it didn’t feel right. The silence didn’t feel right. The lack of someone else’s warmth didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right and it all went straight to Roadhog’s gut. The feelings of unease coiled deep down, unbearably so. Roadhog never felt anxious—he’s not supposed to. This was absurd.

...He had no leads. He  _ assumed _ Junkrat’s captors weren’t in Junkertown because, well, that’d be stupid. Besides, anyone can hear Junkrat a mile away.  He wasn’t in Junkertown, and that’s that. 

But the Outback was eternally massive. Cabins were scattered about, sure, but they were miles away from one another and most Junkers wouldn’t risk going on foot some place so far away. Not everyone had a chopper or a functioning car.

Roadhog sighed. This was going to take too long—added to however long he’d been unconscious. He’d have to think about this thoroughly tomorrow. He closed his eyes and drifted to a light sleep, waking up at every little scuttling noise of lizards, the buzzing of bugs, the unnerving itch of someone watching him.

He knew he was being followed the moment he left Junkertown. Whoever it was didn’t matter. He’d kill them before they could make a move.

 

Roadhog was surrounded by fire. The sky was pitch black, as was the ground. The flames licked his skin and the heat was suffocating, but he did not burn. Past the loud crackles there was a muffled voice. A cry, no, a laugh. He tried to follow it, but it didn’t lead anywhere. He was lost in a flaming labyrinth and he wanted to scream. Then he heard a gunshot, and unfathomable pain accumulated on the left side of his forehead. Blood flooded the inside of his mask, but he couldn’t take it off. He was drowning, as if his head was stuck in a fishbowl. Pathetic. Useless.

His body went cold and the flames had turned to ice. The icicles stabbed him and gained in on him, but he couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t see or breathe through the pool of red that obscured his face. “Roadhog, Roadhog, Roadhog,” the voice said, unidentifiable at first but slowly transforming into Junkrat’s.  Then it wasn’t Junkrat, then it was saying something else, then it was Roxane calling him pathetic, then it was a man he didn’t know, then there was a choir of cries and screams and he couldn’t tell if they were asking for help or running from him.

 

He woke up, but not in a sweat. Not hyperventilating and not with his heart in his chest. He looked around and saw nothing more than what he went to sleep to and the night sky. He decided he’d rested enough. He took everything and put it all in place, turned the hog on and rode through the night to the nearest Junker location he knew.

The vibrations of the road beneath his wheels were always calming. Just him, the bike and the ground—nothing else mattered. Not this time, though. Anxiety took over him and for the first time the humming of the bike was driving him insane. All because of Junkrat—Junkrat and his stupid, dangerous plans. Part of him hated that he cared so much about the skinny asshole, to the point where the money didn’t matter anymore. Taking care of the kid wasn’t a job anymore, it was an obligation: Junkrat was  _ his. _

...When did he begin to think of Junkrat as his? Best friends with benefits, yeah, partners in crime, sure. But…  _ his _ ?  _ His Junkrat? _ Is that what it was? It was incredibly hard to tell what they were, what they felt for each other, being the people they were. Criminals, murderers, thieves, Junkers didn’t feel love; they didn’t care. They took and owned. Did he own Junkrat? Did Junkrat own him? Did they own each other? He grumbled and drove faster, trying his hardest to shake those thoughts from his mind.

 

Dawn came and Roadhog was speeding through the land. He took a sharp turn and hit the brakes when he found himself in front of an old warehouse. Broken down as it was, it was a well known turf among Junkers, always up for grabs for young gangs. Roadhog didn’t care about any of that.

He approached the main entrance nonchalantly. Strong hands slammed the doors open with no warning and dozens of startled, unarmed Junkers scrambled to get their weapons out in the back. They thought they were safe out here in the middle of nowhere; they thought wrong.

"Anyone takes another step, you all die," he shouted. He noticed the vast majority were young. Young and scared. They stopped in place, some whispering to one another.

"It's the Hog..."

Roadhog walked past them and stood next to one of the kids, making sure to pick out the oldest looking one of the bunch. He put his hand on the frightened man's back and brought his fingers to his shoulders; they teasingly approached his neck. He felt the man tremble in place. "Some blokes ran off with something o' mine," Roadhog rumbled, unintentionally pressing his snout to the man's sweating cheek, "Took my boss. Lanky one, he is, trigger-happy and a pain in the arse, 'bout your age," his fingers gently wrapped around the man's neck. Everyone in the room swapped glances nervously. "You all probably know him."

"Ah—I..." The man swallowed hard after catching 'Hog's attention. "I-I ain't seen 'im, he ain't he-here..."

"I know that," Roadhog grimaced, tightening his grip, making the man gasp, "But if any of you have seen him... it'd be wise to tell me where he is."

"I don't know," the man whimpered, "Please don't kill me..." Tears ran down his cheeks.  _ He's a child _ . Roadhog grunted lowly and released the man; the man took a deep, shuddering breath and stood as still as he could. Roadhog looked around, staring at every face in search of guilt, but all he saw was a bunch of innocent kids scared for their lives. They might not have known anything after all, except…

He caught sight of another older looking young man with a green mohawk slowly turning. He looked him in the eye through his mask and took a step forward, and suddenly the man was bolting, running away towards the back. Roadhog ran after him and shot at the air with his scrap gun, sending the young Junkers into a screaming frenzy. He held out his hook with his left hand and followed the man. He waited for a clear shot and threw his hook and caught the man's ankle, nail digging into it. He fell on his face and screamed as he was dragged back. "N-No, no, no, no, please!"

'Hog did not hesitate to wrap a hand around the man's throat and lift him up. The man wheezed and gagged and held back tears as his leg bled. "What do you know?" he demanded. "He's—he's not here!" The hand tightened considerably and the man whimpered. "I'm—he's... d-d-..."

"Tell me he's dead and I'll pop your head off."

"N-not dead," he grabbed Roadhog's hand with both of his, and Roadhog loosened his grip. "Sunset-side, h-he's d-dying—sunset-side,"

"West," Roadhog corrected.

"Wh-west... p-past the ole mill. B-blue shack—that's all I know! I swear!"

Roadhog hummed, low and slow, and he lowered the man to the ground, still holding him...

_ Blam!  _ A gun screamed and his shoulder was bleeding. Silence took over and no one made a move. He turned to face the young Junkers that had grouped up behind him. "Bad move."

As if breaking a stick, he snapped the green man's neck and dropped the limp body. He charged to them and opened fire, he tackled another and punched his face in, and then another was elbowed, and another shot point blank. The youngest ones fled and the older ones tried to fight, but ultimately they were too afraid, and yielded. "Take anything," they said, "Please don't kill us."

And take things he did. Food, scrap, water, medi-packs.  He took enough for himself and Junkrat, he hoped. He then abandoned the Junkers with a warning, and hopped on his bike.

_ West, past the mill, blue shack. _

  
  
  


Junkrat and Roadhog were together again at last. Roadhog had burst through that door, shot the old man and disemboweled him. He'd un-tied Junkrat and held him close, so close, and Junkrat could smell him. Roadhog wasn't dead, he never stopped believing so, and the sunlight felt wonderful against his skin and the fresh, irradiated air and the stench of Roadhog, sweat and blood and oil and all was alright except he opened his eyes and he only saw darkness and he was still tied and covered in his own filth and he was dying.

He'd puked several times. Pissed and shit himself and perhaps it was for the best because he'd lost weight and the ropes felt loose. Junkrat wriggled his fingers free and soon after his arm was too. Laughter escaped him as he wiggled his fingers in front of his face. "Almost, almost, Hog..." With his free hand he tried to untie his legs and completely free himself, but some of the ropes would just not let go. He couldn’t get up anyway, but at least he could crawl. “Hey, ya filthy cunts! Come on and open the door!”

Surprisingly, “they” obliged. Footsteps approached the door and Junkrat was ready. The door opened and the wrinkled man stepped in with a candle. “What do you want, you piece of-”

Junkrat flew. With all his strength he tackled the man. He dropped the candle and it blew off, leaving the two wrestling and squirming in the dark. The man pushed and punched at Junkrat, and Junkrat tried to fight back with his one arm and stump. He kneed the man in the crotch and he screamed, rolling Junkrat over to be on top of him. Punch, punch, punch, but Junkrat was still quicker and stronger, and so he pushed him back down and rolled over on top of the man instead. Then, out of pure instinct, he brought his mouth to the man’s neck and bit hard. The man screamed and cursed as blood seeped into Junkrat’s mouth. With a screech, Junkrat savagely pulled off, ripping the man’s throat. A spray of blood stained his skin and shorts as he tried to get off the twitching man. Though he could not see, he could hear the gurgling sounds of the man’s blood pulling in his mouth. He spit out the torn skin and muscle and laughed at what he had done. He limped off, fell and then crawled towards the exit.

Junkrat searched the shack as best as he could, but he found nothing more than water (of which he drank some), some canned food and a mattress. Of course his limbs weren’t here. Why would they keep them? With a frustrated sound, he crawled to the mattress. He wanted to rest again, but he couldn’t. Green could come by and then what would he do?

He took a deep breath and got up against the wall, and walked against it for support towards the door. He opened it and went on his knees and crawled out. The chill night air cooling him off and drying the wetness of his body and clothes. He crawled. He crawled and crawled and crawled and crawled and crawled until he couldn’t crawl anymore. His limbs trembled; he fell against the warm sand, and passed out in the middle of nowhere.


	6. Riders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They rode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter Im sorry ;;

Roadhog’s stomach turned when he found the blue shack open and abandoned. He parked the chopper outside and headed inside. He couldn’t tell what was worse, the stench of old urine and feces or that of rotting flesh and blood. Either way, the mixture of scents was almost too much to handle even through the mask filters.

He investigated the place, searching for any sign of his boss. All he found was the bitten corpse of the wrinkled man whose gang beat him up, and a number of ropes. Junkrat must have escaped, then. But where to? Roadhog searched the corpse for anything useful, but he only found a couple of coins and weapons he had no interest in. He pocketed the coins and left the rest.

Roadhog wasn’t one to panic, but the feeling began to creep in regardless. Was Junkrat in good conditions? Did he have his prostheses? Where could he have gone? He wanted to be mad at Junkrat, but how could he when Junkrat could be dead?

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. _What now?_ Roadhog slumped down against the splintered wooden wall and closed his eyes. He was so tired. The weight of the world pushed down on his shoulders and worry clawed at his chest. He was so, so tired.

 

Then he heard a sound. Rumbling, like a bike. His bike. Roadhog jolted up and realized it was night time. Had he fallen asleep? He went outside with such speed his aching bones had no time to complain. The bike was still there. With a sigh of relief, he turned to the source of the distant sound. _Shadow_ _Riders,_ he thought with a hint of anxiety, _But why here?_

The Riders were a different kind of Outback survivors. Quiet, smart, dangerous. They resented the Australian Liberation Front; they were bloodthirsty haters of the Queen and Junkers as a whole. Roadhog once thought he could belong with them, what with riding bikes and hating Junkertown… But their hatred for the ALF and its members was far stronger. They craved vengeance.

But why were they so close to Junker territory? _Unless…_ Perhaps they had something to do with this. Perhaps they took Junkrat, and if so…

Thinking was a waste of time. He sat on his bike and he revved up the engine, and soon he left a cloud of dust in his wake.

 

Roadhog followed the Riders’ trail under the moonlight. It wasn’t long until they noticed him riding behind them. The ones in the back signaled something that caught their leader’s attention, and soon they were starting to circle around him. He stopped his bike, but didn’t get off. The Riders rode around him, slowing down with each round until they came to a stop around him. They had such coordination it almost made Roadhog sick. _Like trained dogs_.

One of the Riders looked at him and spoke, “The Roadhog.” Roadhog nodded slowly, almost cautiously. He noticed the others exchanging looks, but they didn’t look afraid. He wasn’t afraid of them either, and he felt the need to prove it.

“Got questions,” he stated.

“Might have answers.”

“My boss—”

“Found ‘im passed out in a ditch. Some bodyguard you are.” He heard snickers all around him—they were teasing him like some goddamn fifth graders. Roadhog didn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. “Anyhoo,” continued the man, shifting on his seat, “We’ll take you to ‘im.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Not for us to say. Do you want your boss or nah?”

“...Take me to him.”

And they rode. Mako was tense throughout most of the ride, but then a wave of nostalgia come over him. The whirring of engines, the feeling of freedom, racing past his fellow riders and the dust left behind by those ahead of him tickling his skin… For a moment he wasn’t in danger. For a moment he was living a memory he had not forgotten.

But then they reached their destination, and Roadhog’s stomach tightened. He was going to see Junkrat again for the first time in who knows how long. He had no idea how long he’d been passed out, but hopefully it wasn’t too long. He didn’t know what Junkrat had gone through this time around—torture most likely, knowing how predictable Junkers can be. He hoped it wasn’t as bad as it had been other times. Junkrat was tough. He could handle most physical torture; psychological torture on the other hand… Still, he’d survived both before. He had escaped this time around. He had to be alright. Had to be fine…

The place looked like an abandoned warehouse. It wasn’t the Rider’s main headquarters; everyone knew that place was well hidden somewhere else. The walls were dark and perhaps painted to be so; it was hard to tell. The riders dismounted their bikes and signaled Roadhog to do the same. He did as bid, and followed them in.

  


Junkrat woke up, and his first instinct was to jump and run—at least, he would’ve if he hadn’t been tied down. Trapped again. Fuck. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He wiggled and squirmed, but the leather holding him down was tight. Leather. Not rope. It’s not the same people. Not the same people; he killed the other people...

“Hog! Roadhog!”

No answer. His eyes dart from wall to wall and he realizes he’s in a wooden room with a light that barely works, and he doesn’t panic. Not yet. “I don’t know where the fuckin’ treasure is! Let me go!”

 _Knock._ There’s a door. This room has a door. The door is unlocked and there’s a hooded figure Junkrat can’t quite make out. The stranger approached him, syringe in hand, and he began to wiggle again. “Don’t you touch me with that!”

The person held down his arm and injected a yellow substance into him. At first he fought, making noises as he squirmed. Then he realized it stung, but not in a bad way. The pain he had forgotten plagued his body was leaving him with a grainy sensation. It was familiar, it was like healing. Hog’s healing. Roadhog.

“Where is he?” he spat at the person handling him. “Where’s Roadhog?” The person didn’t answer, instead putting the spent syringe on a table nearby and leaving, closing the door behind them.

Junkrat yelled and called for them to come back, but no one answered.


	7. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their identity is revealed.

Junkrat was breathing hard, staring at the dimly lit roof. His eyes would not blink. He was focused on the roof—had to focus on something, lest his mind drift and ruin him again. Thoughts were a tricky thing to control.

His attention shifted to the door as it opened and his thoughts scrambled. “Roadhog—”

“He’s here, we won’t hurt you,” said a man dressed in dusty black clothes. He noticed four men with similar attires come in and approach him; the man that had spoken to him walked forward.

“Bullshit, you’re lying! Take me to him,” Junkrat babbled and hissed, the men settling to his sides. “You can’t, can you? ‘Cause you’re lyin’.”

“We’ll take you to him, stop fighting.”

“He’s not _here_ , arsehole, you can’t take me—FUCK you, stop touching me! You’re gonna off me now, ain’t ya? A’right, do it, then!” If he wasn’t so tired, he would have fought harder, kicked harder, bitten harder, but the men dragging him from the bed out the door were stronger. Who were these people? Were they Junkers? Same people as before? No, he went through this already--not the same people. These were liars, these had leather straps instead of rope, these had Roadhog. Roadhog, Roadhog, Roadhog, where was Roadhog? Couldn’t be dead, they said they’d take him to Roadhog but what if they lied? They lied. Roadhog was dead. The others said he was dead, the others… Were the others liars? Who were the liars? Where was he? Where’s Roadhog?

The light of the next room stung his eyes and he hissed. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and what he saw froze him in place. He saw the biggest man on earth standing before him, bruised and riddled with bullet dents and healed cuts. His mask, oh god, his mask. It had dried blood and a hole; the glass of its left lens was cracked and revealed a weary eye underneath. Roadhog didn’t look like Roadhog. He looked tired and done with everything.

All Roadhog did was breathe, low and with that familiar rumble, and Junkrat freed himself with strength he didn’t have before. He scrambled over to the large man, his limbs all over the place as he hopped and fell and crawled to him. He clung tightly to Roadhog’s gut, hands rubbing all over to make sure he was real. He couldn’t speak, not even weep, but stare at the floor with eyes wide open as he held onto Roadhog, arm wrapped tightly around his neck and face pressed to his shoulder.

Roadhog’s stomach fluttered with both affection and anxiety. He wanted to talk to him, comfort him, hold him, but not here—not in front of all these strangers. So instead he took in everything that made Junkrat himself. He took in his shape, his tics and twitches, his scent. Junkrat’s scent was worse than usual: he looked and smelled like shit, and he had rope marks all over his body. He looked weak and thinner than usual. His hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes made him look more like a corpse than a living person and it made Roadhog’s chest tighten. Roadhog let Junkrat touch and mumble and nibble into his skin; he knew he needed to feel him, be sure he was actually there. He placed a heavy hand on Junkrat’s back and it made the smaller man twitch. “Hey,” Roadhog whispered into Junkrat’s ear and Junkrat melted, but didn’t say a word. He could feel Junkrat’s heart racing against his chest, his hyperventilating slowing down to a heavy breathing. They were together now. Everything would be fine now…

“Now then,” said an unfamiliar voice, breaking the silence. All the Riders looked to the source and so did Roadhog. Junkrat didn’t even seem to notice. “I believe some explanation is due.” The speaker stepped forward, and Roadhog took a long, hard look at them. It was a woman, that was clear from her voice: old and leathery, but motherly and strong. Her accent was foreign, and Roadhog couldn’t quite make out where it was from. Roadhog stared at her: she was dressed from head to toe, and her face was covered with a gasmask—a proper one. Hard to come by one of those. Roadhog nodded at her and said, “Yeah. Not now. Leave me alone with him.”

The Riders exchanged looks, and then looked at the woman. “...Very well. Five minutes.” She motioned with her head for the two to go back to the room Junkrat was taken from, and Roadhog nodded. He walked to the room and shut the door behind him. As soon as they were safe and alone, he wrapped his arms around Junkrat. “I’m sorry.”

Junkrat didn’t speak. Not for a whole thirty seconds. And then the ugliest sniffle and then sobbing Roadhog had ever heard escaped Junkrat, and he held on harder than he already was. He’d never seen or heard Junkrat cry, not properly. It was raw, moist, and ugly. He didn’t know how to react.

He waited for Junkrat’s hiccuping to settle down, taking up at least three of the minutes they were given of privacy. “What did they do to you?”

“They killed you,” Junkrat murmured between hiccups, “They killed you n’ I believed ‘em.”

“I’m here.”

“Let’s go home, Hog,” Junkrat’s hands traveled from Hog’s neck to his chest. If he wasn’t covered in snot, Roadhog would’ve found that attractive. He took both hands in his own.

“Can’t. Owe these people. For saving you.”

“Fuck them, they didn’t save me! They’re the ones who took me! Right? No, I killed the one who took me, the old wanker, he’s dead… Who are these people? They want the treasure, don’t they? Won’t give it to ‘em, they can kill me if they want to--”

“We don’t know what they want. Clean up, they’ll hopefully explain everything.”

 

Roadhog slammed the door open with Junkrat standing close. Junkrat put on his most serious glare, despite being puffy in the eyes and red-nosed. Roadhog was certain they’d heard everything; the walls were thin as paper. Regardless, they stood there, looking at the woman who appeared to be their leader. “Done,” said Roadhog.

“I see that,” she responded.

“You their leader?” Junkrat asked, voice cracking. He looked at the Riders to emphasize his question.

“No, I’m not,” the woman admitted. She took a step forward and continued, “I’m Shrike. I’ve been looking everywhere for you two.”

Roadhog shrugged. “You found us. What do you want?”

“If truth be told,” Shrike sighed, folding her arms, “I was looking to hunt you two down for your bounty.”

“Oh, that’s just lovely! Gonna have our heads nice n’ clean on a silver platter for who, the French? Americans? The Chinese? Who’s offerin’ the most, Hog? Pah!” Junkrat folded his arms and leaned against Roadhog; his confidence seemed to have returned quite quickly.

“As it turns out, I can’t _do_ that, thanks to these Riders here. I asked for their help, and promised a favor in return. They want me to help them overthrow your Queen, I want you two to help us.”

“Not _our_ Queen. We was just about to do that, until some wanker shot me with… with what was it, Hog?”  
“A dart.”  
“A POISONED dart! You wouldn’t happen to know anyone with one of those, would you, Shrike-o?”

“That was me. I admit, that was a mistake on my part. I was trying to hit Roadhog. But that was before I lost track of both of you. You were taken by some Junkers out of town and I knew I was going to need help taking them down. I healed Roadhog to the best of my abilities, left him with a local I had met earlier while looking for you two and, well, then I teamed up with the Riders to… _assist_ my search for you.”

“How long was I out for?” Roadhog asked, seemingly unfazed by the entire story told. He needed to know how long he had left Junkrat alone.

“A week, maybe more.” Roadhog looked down to the floor in shame. Junkrat thought he was dead for that long, tied up and tortured. He could only imagine the pain Junkrat had gone through. He subtly moved his hand to make contact with Junkrat’s.

“So lemme get this straight,” said Junkrat, “We try to kill the Queen, you ruin the plan and try to kill _us_ , then get us into trouble, and _now_ you want us to help you do what we were going to do anyway?”

“Yes.” Shrike was blunt. Junkrat looked like he was heavily considering what to do.

“What’s in it for us?”

“We’ll leave you alone, and half the Queen’s gold.” Junkrat looked at Roadhog, then back at Shrike.

“Not worth it,” said Roadhog. “Not worth what you made us go through.”

“What would you like in return?”

They exchanged looks again. To Roadhog, it looked as though Junkrat was into it, but not sure what to ask for in return for their help. “Half the cunt’s money does sound pretty good,” Junkrat mused, “Two thirds?”

“Two thirds,” repeated Shrike. Roadhog looked at Junkrat, and Junkrat shrugged. It was almost as though he’d completely gotten over what he’d gone through. It was hard to understand Junkrat sometimes, but he’d have to agree with anything his boss decided.

“Alright,” Junkrat put his hands on his hips, “We’re in.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join the RoadRat discord server (18+); click [here!](https://discord.gg/PCFGjGP) !!!


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